


Monster

by Astoria Gracewell (arh581958)



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff warning, M/M, alec comforts, alec makes him feel better, emotional magnus, magnus feels, magnus gets hurt with name, magnust angst, very fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Astoria%20Gracewell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times when Magnus thinks he's a monster. Alec tells him otherwise. </p><p>"I'm a monster." </p><p>"I don't believe you"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster

Monster, that's what they called him, a demon's son. For the longest time, he thought that was his name. How many years ago had it been? How many decades, no, centuries have passed since he was called something different? He thought back, long and hard, like flipping through a photo album with a billion pictures. They were memories, his memories, captured in a single frame that was preserved through time.

He flipped until the very first page; it was a memory of a woman whose name he never knew. She was his mother. She was a dark-skinned woman with ebony black hair and eyes whose colour he could no longer remember. All he could see was blackness of it in the monochromatic hues of his memory. She had been kind to him for the first few years, along with her husband whose dark face he could recall as nothing more than a mere blur.

It was hard to keep these memories--memories of the very distant past. They withered away and faded over time. It was too long ago. He barely remembered the experience of being a child. Cursed, that's what she called him, a plague that haunted him for the rest of his life. He was nothing but a blight in their nearly perfect humble farm. He was a reminder of how she was tricked and taken advantaged off--a reminder of how the devil works.  

His memories began the day he presented his demon marks. She was frightened out of her mind. He remembers her expression like yesterday--a face of agony and horror at his change. She screamed and yelled, held a crucifix to his face, and prayed. She held her hands in prayer for the entire night but, when she opened her eyes the following day, he remained the same. She prayed, no she begged, and pleaded for her son to come back. He wasn't her son; he was someone else, something else. She prayed until her mind grew insane.

That man came back but he wasn't his father. He was her husband, a man who was often away. He can no longer bear in mind that face. It was stuck like a broken clock frozen in a blur of rage. He remembers water, the coolness and saltiness of collected rainwater, when he was submerged head first into the drum. He can recall the strong grip of solid hands digging into his scalp. Murderer, that's what he called him, a killer despite his tender age. He was the reason she hung herself.

A monster, a curse, a murderer: for years, that's what he called himself. He wasn't human. He was something despicable, a half-breed born from lust and not love. Still he fled into the sanctuary of Church because they were all true. He slaughtered them both, one through the origin of his birth and the other through a fire he couldn't control. It was his fault because he was different; he was a demon wearing a human guise, a boy who pretended to be something he was not.

He was confused. He drifted from town to town, village to village, allowing time to pass without a care. The vast open fields of green and yellow melted into towering cities. Stone walls were erected over farmlands. However, the people never changed. They continued to shun him, despise him, and fear him. They feared the things that they couldn't understand. Generations and generations passed, he constantly moved without bothering to build connections. He wandered.

For more than a hundred years he walked the earth, watching it change like liquid before his eyes. Warlock, that's what he was called, half-human and half-demon. At first he didn't understand. The Silent Brothers said it was a species rather than a name. It meant that he would never age and he would also never die. It was the reason his mother killed himself, her husband tried to drown him, and how he obliterated the man with fire. He had magic which eventually became his livelihood.

Asmodeus was his name, the demon who sired him. The demon who impregnated the woman he called mother. The prince of hell whose blood run in his veins. That memory never faded: the scarlet red pentagram painted with his own blood, black tar candles at the tip of each point, the smell of sulphur and brimstone--the smell of hell was thick and suffocating. His eyes blurred with the smoke but he could see, the outline of the demon that was his father. He finally understood what he was.

Downworlder, that's what the Nephilim called him, condemned with demonic energy. He was lower than them. He was nothing more than a puppet of a tool. He was something that can be disposed and replaced on whim. They approached him on several occasions: asking him for favours which were petty, magical, and sexual, sometimes all of the above. Everything for a price, of course. He was dispensable and unimportant. They looked at him with the same face when they were throwing away their food.

All except but one.

"Magnus?" It was the name the Silent Brothers gave him, a name he learned to accept. But Alec called him now. He blinked and saw the stunning blue eyes boring into him with concern. The boy shifted from where he lay, on his side with a pillow pressing against his cheek. "Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing."

Alec brushed a hand tenderly against his cheek. "You've been mumbling in your sleep."

"I was--remembering something."

"Oh?" Alec said. He had curiosity written all over his face but it was soft and undemanding. How many years have they been together? Time was like water to him. There signs of maturity on Alec's face: it was less round and sharper, leaner, stronger, Alec's hair was longer but just a bit, going past his chin, but Alec's eyes never changed. Blue eyes staring at him with nothing but love and affection.

"Magnus" Alec said again. "Tell me about it."

Magnus raised his hand, capturing the one which was stroking his face. He opened in, fanning out the fingers, and placed a feather light kiss in the centre. Beside him was an angel and everything that he shouldn't have had. A child of Raziel, sleeping in the same bed and curled up to him. What had he done to deserve this?

"I'm a monster" he whispered into the night. The words hung into the air like a cloud of smoke. It was suffocating and heavy.

"Really? Where?" questioned Alec.

The younger man climbed on top of him, bed dipping where knees pressed. He shuffled underneath the covers until their thighs touched and he straddled his half-Asian lover. He gingerly brought up his hands, enveloping that glittery caramel flesh. Magnus shuddered but kept quiet; the fingers were frigid, rough and calloused--Shadowhunter hands. Alec's hands could easily break a demon's neck but they held him with such tenderness. The next thing he knew, his face was showered with a rainfall of kisses. Soft, light, and gentle all over his face. Alec's lips were cool against his warm skin.

"I don't see any monster." Alec murmured against his skin. "Magnus"

"But I am"

"I don't believe you."

"Alec, I am"

"Oh, no" Alec corrected. He brushed a hand over Magnus' cheek, gliding over the older man's cheekbones, tracing just beneath those amber eyes. "You're Magnus Bane and you're perfect."

He liked that--it was like he could allow himself to forget everything and be the man reflected in Alexander Lightwood's eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> [ **Got a prompt?** ](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/)


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